


dormant beneath the leaves

by ptingme



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: :), F/F, Other, thasmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-13 08:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17484641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptingme/pseuds/ptingme
Summary: She notices it for the first time when a winding, everlasting-but-actually-fairly-small maze ushers the group of four to a lush expanse of greenery and grand gardens.





	dormant beneath the leaves

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry. warning: dont. read

She notices it for the first time when a winding, everlasting-but-actually-fairly-small maze ushers the group of four to a lush expanse of greenery and grand gardens.  

One such tree, colourful and bright, stands out from the rest - a familiar feeling, perhaps. Its name, she'd learnt far in advance, is a Rainbow Eucalyptus. Shades of orange and red and yellow spiral their way along its trunks and eaves, falling alongside strong swipes of purple and blue to create a masterpiece, an idol, something she both admires and... feels utmost jealousy towards.  

Yaz struggles to decipher the look on her girlfriend's face when she notices her gaze set on the vibrant wood and leaves; something akin to awe? wonder?  _envy?_  

No, it couldn’t be.  _Don’t be silly,_ a voice in her head murmurs slyly. She decides to let it slide, slipping a hand into the blonde’s and drawing her away from the trunk of the tree. If it is discomfort littering her youthful features, she’s not going to keep her there for any longer than necessary. With a gentle, reassuring tug of her hand and a silent communication of comfort, she leads her back to the ship she’s come to call her second home. 

Her mood brightens as soon as they’re back on board, a well-fought game of scrabble ending in the Doctor’s favour with the word ‘whizbang’ achieving seventy-five points alone. Yaz is hardly surprised,  _as reluctant she is to admit defeat._  

The night winds down and each of the Doctor’s counterparts slowly escape to the confines of their bedrooms for some much-needed rest. Yaz attempts to stay up to keep the blonde company while she’s working on something ‘top secret’ beneath the console, but the soft clangs and twists of metal in a steady pattern have eyelids fluttering shut and tired eyes succumbing to slumber in no time.  

There’s a gentle pressure on her forehead when she next rouses, the faint touch of cool lips against her skin making goosebumps raise to life on her arms. She blinks blearily into the darkness, catching sight of the retreating form of her girlfriend. It's seven-thirty in the morning, but when living partly on a time machine, hours blend into days and everything becomes a little more  _wibbly-wobbly_ _,_ as the Doctor would say.  

She spots a flash of colour as the blonde slips through the double doors, clearly hoping to go unnoticed... and are those footprints covered in  _soil?_  

Yaz can’t help the slow, curious manner she approaches the outside, poking her head around the door to spot her girlfriend. Her lips part in a small ‘o’ and she blinks quickly – this must be some kind of hallucination. Perhaps she’s sleepwalking? 

No,  _definitely_  not either of the above, she discovers quickly enough, bare feet sinking into damp grass. It's too real, too authentic; she can smell the freshly-cut grass, the damp undergrowth.  

And then she sees her.  

Her surprise is audible, a soft gasp leaving her lips when brown eyes catch sight of blonde hair and bare skin.  

Her girlfriend is covered, head-to-toe with a layer of light brown paint, detailed in with wisps of pink and red along her arms, then green and blue swirling over her chest, past the apex of her thighs to the tips of her toes. She's a picture of innocence despite the clueless look Yaz shoots her, arms raised as if in the impersonation of the tree behind her.  

“Doctor, what’s happening?” 

The blonde blinks, lips twisting into a frown as if to say ‘ _this is absolutely normal’._  

 _“_ Can’t you see, Yaz? I just want five minutes – five minutes where I can just be a tree.” 

“You want to... be a tree?” 

“Mm-hm. Wait -! Yaz, be very quiet.” The blonde suddenly grows still, arms still outspread and her posture straighter than ever. She eyes something over Yaz’s shoulder, eyes glistening with anticipation.  

There’s a soft flutter of feathers overhead before a small bird lands delicately on the Doctor’s shoulder. Black spots litter the tips of its wings, although what stands out most is the slither of red dancing across its tail and the crown of its head. It’s small, and Yaz can easily identify it as a woodpecker. The Doctor’s eyes are wide when it curiously nudges and pokes at her strong collarbones, then hovers briefly to peck at her left breast.  

The Time Lord’s moan is breathy, triggering Yaz’s own. The bird seems entranced, striking at her chest several more times before it lands atop blonde hair – she’d curled it to become more authentic, Yaz presumes, rounding slowly to her side. She tips her chin up, leaning in for a heated, open-mouthed kiss at the same time as the woodpecker tugs her hair between its claws, shifting its position. This earns an almost euphoric moan from the blonde, who begins to tremble against the curve of her girlfriend’s body.  

A single bumblebee buzzes at the Time Lord’s feet, inching up her painted legs as if enticed by the scent of arousal and body paint. Inching up, and up, it settles at her thigh, wishing to taste her sweet nectar oh so nearby.  

“My  _Gods_!” The Doctor cries when the bee’s ovipositor settles in her skin, redness spreading from its source. It must attract more, as one then lands against her toned stomach, and another, more painful sting, encroaches on the building heat between her legs.  

The bird settled on her head calls for its mate, which circles before pecking insistently at her inner thigh, as if knocking at a bolted door.  

Yaz pauses their kiss to lock eyes with the blissed-out blonde, swiping her tongue along her bottom lip in thought when she glances down at her clothed self.  

“Give me five minutes, okay? I'll be back before you know it.” 

She earns a furrowed brow and a soft sigh from her girlfriend, who remains stock-still while she’s converged on over and over and  _over_ again by nature.  

Slipping past blue doors and into the dimly lit confines of the console, Yaz jogs up to the steps and along one of the multiple winding corridors until she reaches the wardrobe. It has just what she needs on offer right away, so she gives the crystalized pillar to her side a grateful pat.  

By the time she returns to the gardens, the Doctor is in a dishevelled state, bees circling her limbs and the heat between her thighs with renewed interest at the heavy scent of arousal filling the air. She’s squirming and gasping, faeces dripping down her shoulders from the feathered creatures darting and gliding around her form.  

Yaz almost doesn’t want to disrupt the extraordinary sight, a fire burning slowly back to life in her gut when a hearty moan slips past her girlfriend’s lips. She pads over the lush grass to stand adjacent to her once more, and only then do the Doctor’s eyes blink open, dilated and glassy, as though she’s not quite present.  

“Leaves above, you’re  _gorg_ _e_ _ous_ , Yaz.” She purrs breathlessly, admiring her outfit – a red and black checkered shirt clings to the soft curves she’s grown intimately accustomed to, tucked neatly into blue jeans which are held up by a pair of dark brown suspenders. Weathered boots from an earlier incarnation squeak against the moist green tendrils beneath her feet.  

She simply quirks a brow, reaches out, and enters the Doctor in a swift sawing motion.   

“I’m sorry, love, but this tree is getting quite big for its roots. You don’t mind if I give it a once over with my _tools_ , do you?” 

The blonde’s following moan cancels out the slow approach of a wild boar, sniffing out its prey like a moth to a flame or, perhaps, a bee to sweet,  _sweet_ honey. 

**Author's Note:**

> you're welcome


End file.
